


The Guard of Priwen

by CogOfAlderHollow



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Humans are not, Priwen focus, but luckily they're not on every street corner in this fic, but reid's okay, leeches are durable, logistics and politics of vampire hunting, not too major, some character death, the guardsmen aren't exactly upstanding moral icons either, too much headcannon, vampires are evil in general, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CogOfAlderHollow/pseuds/CogOfAlderHollow
Summary: Jonathan Reid left London believing it was cleansed of the blood of hate, yet one particular fiend went overlooked. While this can't stay hidden from the Guard for long, an already dangerous vampire hunt manages to draw in further threats upon Priwen.**I've been sitting on this for quite a while- promising myself I'll work on it again. ...Probably not a promise I should make... but this first chapter is a fairly self contained story of hunting vampires one dark and frigid night, besides the lead-off at the end, so I'll just post it for now and pretend I'll get back to writing this sometime.**I don't have a real title for this work
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Guard of Priwen

_London Docks - 31 December 1919_

Chilled air greeted the nocturnal visitors of the western docks. Not quite cold enough to visibly freeze, but harsh on the lungs and burning to the eyes. Though the clock hands were hours past dusk, the atmosphere was far from silent. Workmen called to one another in the eerie buzzing glow of warehouses, a constant stream of cargo and production that fed the coal-fires of industry. No shipping barges sailed the Thames in the darkness, but engines still rumbled and echoed through the narrow alleyways. London's industrial landscape was either brimming with the promise of better days, or coated by the grit of beaten spirits and worn lives. From the predawn of a new decade emerging from war and pestilence, there was no clear image of what was yet to come. While the city was moving forward, old wounds still lingered, and the shadow of something ages old and entirely inhuman still clung to the darkest corners.

An unremarkable truck slowly rolled past in the scattered light leaking out onto the streets, seeming to decipher the maze of warehouses as it headed well past the lively buildings. Anyone who bothered to look in its direction would only note the 'MOTORIZED MERCHANT SERVICES' stenciled across the side, too small scale of an operation to be worth remembering to the dockside factories. The truck's pace picked up slightly as the path grew darker which would be considered reckless in a more populated area, even at night. Taking longer would serve no purpose. Having passed all signs of life, the truck finally pulled against a brick wall at a distance from the entrance to an old shipping warehouse, closed down since the end of the war.

As the engine stuttered down, the back of the truck was smoothly opened. A small group of people filed out in a rigidly organized manner. Gear was passed around silently, the figures helping one another strap on armor and check weapons with an efficiency born of routine. A thick silence betrayed that it was not simply a routine night, however. One man paced around with a commanding posture, offering quick admonishments wherever a strap was loose or chamber unfilled. When he was finally satisfied, he gestured to one of the group for a quick word.

"Paxton." A woman turned to meet him. She was wearing a loose interpretation of a uniform, being more a collection of practical gear than anything symbolic, but that held a similar quality common to the rest of the group. Each person had either a scarf or mask, she had just finished with tying hers to cover the lower half of her face. A handgun was clearly evident at her side, as well as a long dagger. Under normal circumstances her attire would attract strong suspicion, but alongside the rest of the strangely geared militia she appeared almost mundane.

"Sir." Giselle Paxton's voice was far too devoid of emotion, intentionally stripped of anything telling, as she responded curtly and kept her head down. Though she was not an older woman, there were premature lines of worry and the harshness of the district etched crudely onto her face.

The man let out a huff of air, and squared himself as if facing a difficult task. "It'll be you or one of the men."

"It's to be me, then. Has to be."

The man didn't respond. He appeared in an oddly solemn mood, at odds with an otherwise intimidating appearance. A frayed overcoat draped over broad shoulders, an unusually tall man who carried himself with easy confidence, critically scanning and evaluating the surrounding landscape as if it were a habit as familiar as breathing. His own weapons were even more curious: An unembellished but well crafted two-handed sword over which his fingers unconsciously hovered, and a small repeating crossbow roughly strapped onto his left arm. He nodded to Paxton -she knew full well their objective- and made his way to the front of the truck. A sharp knock on the metal demanded the driver's attention. The door swung out, and the driver shifted over to the opening to sit on the edge of the seat. He draped his arm over the bench and made no move to leave the truck.

"We're off. You have extra ammunition with you?"

"Yeah, McCullum, I do. Go off and get yourselves killed now, right? That, at least, I know what to do with."

"Not the time, Hooks." McCullum gave him an irritated glare but didn't raise his voice.

"And who the fuck is Hooks? I'm Milton, in case you've forgotten. Got enough munitions for the gangs, at least. Otherwise I'll just sit here like a rabbit in a fox den."

"There shouldn't be anything or anyone out here to give you trouble tonight, but you've heard protocol." He didn't wait for the lack of response before he had moved back to the rest of the group. Milton left the door ajar and shifted back into the shadows of the front bench, a brief flicker and glow of a cigarette the only indication he was still there. The small reflection of ember in his eyes showed he was focused on the building entrance they had parked near, and he was keeping a strict watch.

Beside Paxton, three more guardsmen waited. One was another woman geared in a similar fashion to the first, standing close but watching the interaction at the front. The two others were having a silent discussion, before packing up any undonned gear and closing the back of the truck. One man had covered himself entirely in a thick protective coat, with a hood and goggles obscuring any features. He was perhaps the most conspicuous of the group, and carried a full size crossbow along with a quiver of bolts and an assortment of pouches that he was currently rifling through. In contrast, the man he was speaking with could have belonged to any London gang, with a long coat, bayonet-tipped rifle, and general impression of violence. While he wasn't the tallest man present, he was still of a good height and heavyset as if well accustomed to hard labor. He could have been a regular citizen of the docks, at least until anyone noticed the thick metal vambrace strapped to his forearm.

"Hawkins, Sheen." McCullum waved his hand as a vague gesture as he walked past the group. He adjusted his own scarf, a piece of cloth that was either long faded of original dye or had been otherwise stained to that particular off-blood shade, and purposefully strode towards the warehouse. All four fell silent and followed. As they reached the entrance, they could see another man clinging to the shadows, standing to one side of the barred door.

"Toby, a light?" He asked of the crossbowman. Toby Sheen fished a matchbox out of one of his many pouches and tossed it over. The man caught it with a smirk and grabbed an unlit torch that was leaning against the wall. A quick spark, sudden rush of combustion, and the party of now six was lit grimly in the flickering glow. The warmth of the fire did nothing to combat the chill, and just burned any exposed skin when it was held close. The man took another torch off the ground and lit it with the first, passing it off to Pippa Hawkins. In the light, his own gear looked far more intentional and not quite as cobbled together as the rest of the group, the short antique saber adding an almost theatrical flair. Though it made him stand out compared to the rest, he appeared very at ease with his fellow guardsmen.

"You forgot to bring matches to a leech hunt? We said no shit-brained rookies, Andrew. Better head off back to base, or we'll find a use for you yet." Toby said with a toothy grin.

"The old classic rookie bait, I take it? I figured that's why you were taking so long, to leave me out here and attract every last one. Burned through all my matches making sure nothing's come out of this den while you lot took the scenic route."

"Hey, Rookie-" Toby started, but his retort and any joviality among them fell silent as McCullum drew his sword.

"Vincent." With conversation halted, the group fell into a patterned arrangement as the larger Sheen stepped forward and fluidly delivered a kick to the door. It slammed open with a -CRACK- of splintering wooden bar and broken doorframe. Vincent Sheen immediately brought his rifle up, with Andrew Woodbead falling in beside him and lighting up the large space with his torch. McCullum entered with his sword held ready, pacing around the two and using instinct as much as senses to determine likely direction of threats. While this building had been boarded up, with several broken upper windows indicating long term disuse, there was still a collection of crates and the skeletal remains of machinery that had apparently been left to rust. The expansive building had been long abused and fallen into disrepair, with the opposing wall partly gaping open, and a ramp leading down into dark, rippling water. The other three held back at the door while waiting for any threats to show. Pippa was able to get the damaged door mostly closed again, propping a stray board against it to keep it from swinging.

When everyone had fallen silent again a slight skittering noise could be heard intermittently from the upper level, which likely held several cramped office and storage rooms. Even in the December air a particular stench lingered within the expanse of the building; a pungent rot. The group spread out and paced forward, the two torches casting suspicious shadows to every corner. McCullum advanced to the right of the open water, and the other two near him strayed left. Woodbead's flame was the first to catch a visceral glinting hidden among warehouse shelving, Vincent catching on and following. Remains of at least two human corpses and a smaller animal had been discarded near a broken winch, barely more than dried tendon on bone. The floor below was stained dark, with streaks like claw marks and footprints in contrast. Holding the torch higher, the guardsmen could see a few stray bones that had been scattered to farther corners. Vincent leaned over to pick up a cracked femur, ignored Andrew's disgusted frown, and hissed a whistle while holding it up for the rest to see. McCullum nodded and pointed twice around the crates on his side of the warehouse, confirming more corpses.

They all spent a few careful minutes checking for signs of anything un-living in lower expanse, but turned up nothing further than bloodstains. Regrouping, with Toby and Giselle keeping sight of the catwalks above, McCullum took a moment to survey the rooms on the second floor.

"That upper floor is a death trap, we need to lure them down here." He began. "One of us can go upstairs and introduce himself." Several sets of eyes turned to Andrew.

"Shit. Well if I die tonight that's on you, Toby."

"...Rookie bait."

"Glad we have a volunteer. Woodbead, just knock the doors open one by one. When you get something's attention, run back down, don't bother to count how many follow."

"Cheers, sir." Andrew said flatly. He made his way over to the metal staircase, leading the way with a blade's edge and half-bounding just slowly enough to remain quiet. He paced himself as he reached the top, measuring footsteps on the catwalk and approaching the doors at the end. Unfortunately for Andrew they were all already open or ajar, leaving him hesitant in anticipation of being noticed. Now closer, there was no mistaking the noises for rats with several pitches of voice growling intermittently. What with the wet snapping and ripping it sounded as if there was a room full of skals fighting over a meal. They were known for making half formed attempts at territorial or possessive behavior, but more often they were too focused on food to bother with one another. He privately thought they had a similar mentality to chickens that way.

Readying himself to run, Andrew made a quick leap forward and slammed the butt of his torch on the door, bursting it fully open and into the opposing wall. Flame drenched the cramped room in light, illuminating a ring of skals circled around the mangled corpse of an unfortunate soul and catching the twin glinting of many sets of eyes now staring at his form. The torch further lit up a combination of rotten gray and darker red, slicking their arms and faces with wet shine. A mix of torn and stained clothing hung on each of their twisted bodies, or in at least one case little more than scraps of cloth holding together moldy, pocked flesh. The rot of sloughing intestine and organ meat hit him harder than any leech, sending him reflexively gagging and backing away from the doorway. The skals stirred from their brief stasis and hissed but couldn't figure out what to do about the intrusion, not wishing to give up their place at the feast to any of the others. He didn't have time to stare, however, when another skal lurched out of the next room down and made directly for him. He ran.

"Not pleased to meet you, bastards!"

The lone creature decided the course of action for the rest, for in the skals' minds, the meat being chased was clearly most worthy of their attention. He heard more hissing from farther back in the second floor, but didn't bother to turn around, reaching the stairs and jumping down several at a time. A quick dart to the left gave a perfect opening for McCullum to step forward and arc his sword in a fluid motion, severing the fastest skal's head and startling the rest.

They reacted ferally, jumping back out of range of the threat and leaping like rats from the staircase to scatter on the ground floor. Giselle and Toby had put the entrance wall behind them, Andrew fell in with Pippa close by, fending off several creatures that had decided the two were cornered prey. There appeared to be eight skal apart from the one already fallen, quite enough to cause serious harm if they were careless.

Toby had another box of matches out, and after a moment sent a flaming bolt deep into the chest of one creature, staggering it and allowing his older brother time to line up a rifle shot that took half its face in a bloody scattering of bone. As soon as the body dropped to the floor another took its place, slashing at Vincent with ill-formed claws that snapped against his armor. It shrieked and tried again with further fury, the man falling back and keeping up a solid defense.

McCullum, nearby, was keeping two more from ganging up on the other hunter, but who were infuriatingly staying just out of reach. Skal were not mindless, but what mind remained seemed to preferentially fall back on instinctual survival at any sign of threat. These two had figured out the danger of the the broad bladed sword, one hissing an unintelligible string of angry words at the hunter as they backed out of range of torchlight.

Before giving them a chance to scale the scaffolding, he fired several rounds of bolts. Each struck into wet flesh, having the desired effect of a disorienting flash of phosphoric pain. A flare of anger caused them to ignore their small dose of better judgment and move back within reach. A quick slash of steel took an arm off at the elbow, but sent the skal scattering again.

"Give me a leech who'll stand and fight! Rats, all of you!" A gunshot cracked into the jaw of the wounded skal, another opening to follow through. A wet, stunted hissing was immediately cut off as blade cleaved through flesh.

Andrew and Pippa were in a worse state. The remaining creatures had focused themselves with rabid ferocity on the flickering torches, as if deeply offended by the presence of fire.

Both torchbearers were also trying to keep the last two hunters from being gutted while reloading, which resulted in the four backed against the entrance wall and cut off from Vincent and Geoffrey. One skal was already quite tattered, scraps of hanging tissue where a saber had been working at it. Pippa's machete was better suited to the creatures, and each meaty -THUNK- threw bits of skal into the air and further disabled the one she was facing. A rapid fire from Giselle finished it, carving deep holes through it's head and chest.

Toby shot off another bolt in Vincent's direction, hitting the next skal in the upper chest and nailing to the wooden post behind it. A shriek rang out, likely due to the flame cauterizing and disrupting the highly-regenerative tissue. The rifleman burst a round through the pinned skal's knee, shattering the joint and nearly severing the leg, and then backed out of arms reach to survey the rest of the battlefield.

Andrew had somehow acquired three skal at once, each intent on carving out his throat. Finally free to act, Vincent roared and charged forward, left arm up as a battering ram to send two of the skal flying and spearing the third on the end of his bayonet. He threw it off as it sprayed bloody saliva and gore into his face. Luckily most hit his mask, but forced him to loosen it for the pungent smell soaking through.

Andrew had taken the opportunity to set upon one of the stunned skal, but wasn't able to get a clean cut through its neck with his thinner curved blade. A thick black fluid oozed from the gaping hole, and it's hissing came out as an odd whistle from the rent trachea.

Pippa darted forward, partly shoving Andrew aside, and with a -THUNK- drove her machete into the skal's head. The creature twitched before collapsing limply to the ground. Andrew gave her a annoyed glare which she gave back in full, but quickly turned to the remaining skal again as one tried to jump forward.

A flaring of torch caused it to hesitate and crouch low. He kept the torch swinging, it's eyes lit up bright with fire, head swaying with the movement but muscles tensing and getting ready to spring once more. What it failed to notice then was the large figure stalking close behind it, the bright glint of blood-mottled steel arcing back and then surging forward to -CRACK- into it's temple, violently twisted the rest of it's body to follow the ruined skull, and bringing a sudden sharp end to it's un-life.

A following bark of rifle and echoing spring of crossbow finished off the two stunned creatures, and far behind McCullum the last threat lay sprawled across the floor, unmoving and wet just past the reach of torchlight.

A brief respite from violence was welcome, though the mood was still on edge. Toby removed his hood, revealing a face far too young for the deep scars it bore, and wiped back sweat-damp hair while Vincent tried scrubbing off the mess of blood and tissue covering his own face. Andrew set to work meticulously cleaning his blade, and scoffed at Pippa's efficient but quick wipedown of her own. Giselle, however, stood apart from the rest, gun still held loosely but pointed at the ground, staring at the still-hissing skal pinned to a wooden support post. McCullum ignored her for now, focusing instead on securing the warehouse.

"I need a recheck on the upper floors. Sheen, Woodbead, clear it out."

Vincent quickly complied, now with a mask of red-black smearing dried to his skin, making his way to the upper floor with Andrew trailing behind. He kept his rifle up and armor forward as he paced forward down the catwalk, standing guard as Andrew checked each room to be sure. As he waited, McCullum made his way over to the pinned skal still remaining, ignoring the clawing limbs and grabbing hold to twist them behind the post. Toby had also strayed over, unhooking a length of rope from his collection of pouches and quickly tied the struggling creature down. It continued to thrash and bite at the men, but was held tight for the moment.

"All clear!" Vincent called from the catwalk, having made his way around to the opposite staircase. Both he and Andrew came back down the the ground floor. "Just a bloody mess of corpses left up above. Beasts have been living here a while, eating anyone who came inside to scavenge, I'd say." Eyes briefly flickered to Giselle. "Haven't seen any this beastly in months. Although there was still one or two of their... _decorations_ they like to put up." His gaze slid over to the captured skal as he fell silent.

Giselle Paxton mechanically walked forward, ignoring the rest of the group who silently moved out of her way. Pippa followed close behind with her torch, putting the bound creature into the full light. A woman who once may have been called youthful and pretty, but now like all skal bore the marks of their cursed state. Her vibrant skin had turned to ash and mold, her formerly groomed hair had fallen out in clumps to reveal a festered skull, clothes that were worn to begin with were now blood stained rags. The young woman would have been considered indecent at this point if the mess of rotten and pocked flesh had been recognizable as human. Her eyes, however, were by far the cruelest change. There was no more vibrant intelligence to be found. Nothing was left of the woman who stood against poverty and gangs with a cheerful demeanor, despite all the misfortune life threw her way. Not even the silent anger she kept buried deep, just the feral madness of a beast.

"Lottie... I fucked up bad this time." Giselle's voice wavered. "I've not been much of a sister, have I?. Nor friend. Nor daughter, neither." She had stopped just short of armsreach away from what remained of Lottie Paxton. It hissed and spat, no recognition passing through its opaque eyes. "I..." She trailed off, knowing no words could fix this mess. McCullum stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her shivering.

"That's not your sister, Paxton." Giselle's mouth was in a hard line as her eye's were locked on the ground. "The flesh is half rotten away. Whatever is in there, your sister is long dead. They don't come back." Old memories threatened to distract him, but he shoved them away out of habit.

He _was_ certain there was nothing human left. He had taken extra time to make sure that Lottie Paxton was a nothing more than a mad beast when his men tracked her down. Something he might not have done a year ago. Something he knew that his late mentor would strongly disapprove of. But he wasn't Carl Eldritch. Carl was... Carl. There was a certain line that Geoffrey had not previously been aware of, which he found himself unwilling to cross. Ordering Giselle to shoot a intelligible, recognizable sister was definitely past that point. But the Lottie in front of him was a vicious creature, fully taken by hunger and anger, with no cure but to be ended.

Whether or not this decision could be called ideal, it was the only action possible. He knew from firsthand experience it was far better to take upon the responsibility for oneself. It didn't lessen the pain, but it did help one to survive it.

The skal in front of them continued to thrash against its bonds, hissing at both like a cornered cat. McCullum stepped away from Giselle as she raised her gun. Her grip was too tight, but it hardly mattered at this close of range. There was a brief moment of stasis where the rest of the group paused, not judging the hesitation, and not intruding on a final farewell between sisters. The skal itself seemed mesmerized by the silence, until the gun barked in the frigid building, echoes tripping over the wet sound of final death.

Giselle's hurried footsteps clattered through the building, as she crossed the worn floor and wrenched open the broken door. Pippa followed her outside, lighting the way back to the truck.

In the quiet following the two guardsmen's passage, McCullum walked over to deal with what remained of the ruined corpse. Burning was standard cleanup procedure for Priwen, both to ensure the creatures they hunted never rose again and -more importantly since the skal epidemic- to contain anything infectious. The Sheen brothers busied themselves with the other skal, systematically piling them by the open water. A quick dousing of accelerant from Toby, and he did the honor of lighting the bonfire. Almost ten skal cleared out of an established den. It didn't pay, but it was good work for one night.

Geoffrey slit the bindings holding the skal in place, grabbing her with the intention of being added to the rising flames. But among the glistening decayed flesh there was something... off that triggered his curiosity. He set the corpse down in the full light of the fire. A large section of flesh appeared melted around the right side of her ribcage, individual bones seen with only strips of gristly wrapping and a dark hollow cavity underneath.

"Bloody dead things. Probably started chewing on itself." Woodbead muttered.

McCullum didn't acknowledge him. Kneeling down, he noticed something foreign within Lottie's chest cavity, forcing aside what sludge and debris that a skal had in place of living tissue. With a quick movement, he took hold of two ribs and cracked them apart, tossing one of the brittle bones as it came loose.

Vincent nudged aside the rib as it rolled towards him. "Been getting ideas from those Brotherhood writings, Geoffrey?"

"This one's not infected." He glanced over into the hissing flames. "None of them were."

"They look rather infected to me."

"Not by the epidemic."

"Assuming what the leech doctor said was true-"

"I'm not assuming anything. Epidemic skals were a different breed. Uglier than normal, pus and sores. Spreading fast like a sickness. This one looks like a dried corpse in comparison."

"This den was as vicious as we've seen. Not like the rare skittish vermin they were before the war."

McCullum responded by grasping something from within the corpse and holding it to the light for the men to see. Vincent and Toby understood immediately.

Andrew was left entirely confused. "Is that a... stem? Why is there a plant growing in a skal?"

"Not growing. Someone placed it there." McCullum plucked out thorny stems one by one. "Roses, even."

"Someone shoved a skal full of roses?" Andrew would have laughed if the situation wasn't so grim.

"You've been told what plants will do to a leech. This would drive it mad, if it wasn't already. A constant burn underneath its skin."

That was a darker thought.

"I wouldn't put it past the Brotherhood..." Vincent sneered.

"Maybe so. But I'm not convinced, this doesn't reek of their orchestration."

"Who else bothers with skals?"

"Other leeches. But not really a fit for Ascalon either. I can't see one of those preening snakes getting near a skal, let alone touching it. We might be looking for a rogue leech testing its fangs on London."

"Be a nice change from skal. And a leech alone is an easy target."

Something in McCullum's face twitched. "Depends on the leech. We need to keep our eyes open. Check over the bodies before we burn them." He stood back up from where he had been examining the corpse, lifting the small ruined creature easily. "I'm not interested in allowing some beast to set off the skals again. Whatever it is, we'll find it."

He set her down again at the edge of the fire, undead skin immediately reacting to the flame. Charred ulcers formed and ate away at the flesh, unnaturally quick down to muscle and bone. In a few moments the fire caught, eagerly burning what remained of Lottie Paxton to ash.


End file.
